Stone Soup

There lived two sisters—Anna-Maria and Victoria. Anna-Maria married a wealthy shopkeeper, while Victoria married a coal miner. Burning coal is not the same as selling goods in a shop and counting profits. The coal miner worked hard but earned little. Yet, in the small house at the edge of the forest, there was always joy because the coal miner would rise with a song and go to bed with a song—never the same one, always different. And where did he get them all from! Victoria’s children—two girls and three boys—grew up rosy-cheeked, obedient, and cheerful.

Anna-Maria, on the other hand, had only one son, and he was mean and whiny. No matter how much his mother indulged or spoiled him, he only grew thinner and paler from anger. So, the wealthy Anna-Maria envied the poor Victoria.

Then came a year when black fever, accompanied by bony death, appeared in the area where the sisters lived. They visited one house after another. The terrible guests did not spare the coal miner’s hut and knocked on the shopkeeper’s door as well. The sisters became widows on the same day.

Victoria was left with five small children. Burning coal was not a woman’s job, and no matter how hard she searched, Victoria could not find other work. So, she decided to go to her sister Anna-Maria.

"Help me, sister," Victoria pleaded. "Give me at least some bread to feed the children."

"Freeloaders, all of you!" Anna-Maria shouted. "Fine, you lazy thing, clean the house, muck out the barn, feed the cattle, weed the garden—then you can ask for something."

Victoria cleaned the house, mucked out the barn, fed the cows, milked them, and pulled out all the weeds in the garden.

"Now bake some bread," Anna-Maria ordered. When the bread was ready, she picked the smallest loaf and gave it to her sister.

"You can come again tomorrow," the shopkeeper said, thinking to herself: *Your children won’t stay rosy-cheeked for long if you divide such a small loaf among five!* Victoria returned the next day. Her sister gave her even harder work, and in the evening, she gave her a loaf smaller than the previous one. But this time, Victoria was cleverer—she kneaded the dough but didn’t wash her hands. When she returned home, she put a pot on the fire and shook all the flour stuck to her palms into the water. It made a delicious flour soup. The children ate it and went to bed almost full.

From then on, Victoria did this every day. And the rosy cheeks of her children grew even brighter.

One day, while grinding grain at her sister’s house, Victoria saw an old beggar enter the yard.

"Give me a piece of bread, kind woman," he said. "I’m hungry."

Victoria replied, "I’d gladly feed you, but I’m not the mistress here. Ask my sister."

Just then, Anna-Maria ran out of the house and began to scold: "Get out, you vagabond, before I set the dog on you!"

Behind Anna-Maria came her little son. He picked up some stones from the ground and began throwing them at the old man.

The beggar turned to leave, but Victoria whispered to him, "Wait for me tonight at the turn in the road where the big olive trees grow."

Victoria finished her work and went home. At the turn in the road, the beggar was waiting on a stone. She took her small loaf from the basket, broke it into six equal parts, and handed one to the old man. He took the bread and asked, "Whose share did you give me, woman?"

"I have five children," Victoria replied. "The sixth is mine. So, I gave you my share. Don’t worry, I worked hard today and will soon fall asleep. And when you sleep, you don’t feel hungry."

"Well, thank you. Perhaps I’ll help you someday," the old man said.

Some time passed. One day, Anna-Maria’s son saw an eagle soaring in the sky and wanted to play with it. Anna-Maria loved her son so much that if she had wings, she would have flown after the eagle. But she had no wings, so she tried to convince her dear son to play with other toys. But the dear son only wanted the eagle. He opened his big mouth and began to wail. By evening, everyone in the house was deaf from his cries, and he himself fell ill.

"And your children," Anna-Maria asked Victoria, "are they well?"

"They are," Victoria replied.

And then black envy began to gnaw at Anna-Maria. She sent her sister to work in the field and ran to her house. When Anna-Maria saw how rosy-cheeked and cheerful Victoria’s children were, she nearly cried from frustration.

"Ah, dear nieces and nephews, what are you eating that makes your cheeks so round?" And she pinched the youngest boy painfully.

"We eat flour soup," the eldest replied.

"Flour soup? And where does your mother get the flour?"

"As soon as Mom comes home, she shakes the flour from her hands into the pot," the girl said.

*Ah, so that’s it,* thought Anna-Maria.

That evening, she ordered her sister to wash her hands thoroughly before leaving and sent her away without giving her a single piece of bread.

Victoria went home with an empty basket. At the turn in the road, she stopped and thought. What would she tell her hungry children? How would she feed them?

Then Victoria saw three stones by the roadside. She picked them up, put them in the basket, and covered them with her apron.

By the time she returned, the children, as usual, had fetched water, cleaned the pot, and lit the fire in the hearth. When Victoria arrived, the water in the pot was already boiling.

"Well, children," she said, "today we’ll have soup—not flour soup, but good meat soup."

With these words, Victoria dropped the three stones into the pot.

"Will the meat take long to cook?" the children asked.

"A long time, children. See how hard it is," Victoria said, tapping the stones in the pot with a wooden spoon. "When it softens, the soup will be ready. For now, go play."

The children ran off to play. Their mother sat by the pot, where the stones were boiling, and wept bitterly.
The hour was already late, she thought. The children would play and then fall asleep, forgetting about food. Today I deceived them, but what will become of us tomorrow? Will I manage to find work?

But then the doors swung open, and the children ran into the room. They had brought with them—who do you think?—the same old beggar whom Victoria had recently fed with bread.

"Mom, mom," shouted the eldest son, "Grandpa said he's hungry too! Feed him some of our meat soup."

"Why not feed him?" Victoria replied. "But the meat is still tough. Let Grandpa warm himself by the hearth and wait, while you run around a bit."

The children ran off. Then the woman said to the old man:

"Don't be angry, kind man. Last time, I gave you my share. But today, I have nothing."

"What's cooking in the pot?" asked the old man.

"Stones," Victoria replied sadly.

"Why are you lying to me? I can smell meat."

"I swear to you, there's nothing in there but stones," said the poor woman, and running to the pot, she scooped from it with a large wooden spoon.

How surprised she was to see a large piece of boiled meat in the spoon!

"I told you it smelled like meat," said the old man. "Call the children to dinner."

"But the soup still needs salt, and I have none."

"Your eyes are red. That means you've been crying. Perhaps a tear fell into the pot. There's nothing saltier than a mother's tears."

Victoria tasted the soup. Indeed, it was perfectly salted.

"Children, come eat!" she called joyfully, and poured the soup into a large bowl.

"Give the children a piece of bread with the soup," said the old man.

Victoria shook her head.

"There's no bread in the house."

"You're lying to me again," replied the old man, smiling. "Look on the shelf in the cupboard."

Victoria obediently opened the cupboard door and saw seven panioli—little round loaves of bread—on the shelf.

Everyone ate heartily. Then the old man said:

"Now it would be nice to drink a glass of good wine and have a slice of broccio. Go down to the cellar, woman."

Victoria, without a word, went down to the cellar, though she knew it was completely empty, not even a crumb for the mice.

But the miracles didn't end. In the cellar stood a barrel of wine, and next to it lay heads of broccio—salted sheep's cheese—while from a thick hook in the ceiling hung smoked hams and clusters of sausages. After dinner, the children fell asleep.

"Ah, Signor Beggar," exclaimed Victoria, "you must be a magician!"

"So it is," replied the old man. "What I've done is mere trifles for me. You see, over the last thousand years, I've grown quite tired. In the forest in the mountains stands an old oak, my contemporary; in its hollow, I always rest when I feel like it. Now I've decided to take a little nap, say, a hundred years or so. But before I head to the mountains, I want to settle all my debts. Everything I've given will remain with you. The pot will never run out of meat, the cupboard will always have bread, and the cellar will always have wine, cheese, and sausages. Now I must go. I have one more debt to settle—your sister and her son. Paying it won't be as pleasant, but what can I do?"

And the old man, groaning, rose from the bench. Victoria caught up with him at the door and grabbed the edge of his clothing.

"Ah, kind Signor Magician, I beg you, spare my sister!"

"I wish I could, but I can't. We magicians have our own law—to pay everyone according to their deserts. Whoever deserves what will get it."

The old man left.

And Victoria didn't sleep until dawn. Though her sister was wicked, she was still her sister. In the morning, she ran to Anna-Maria.

She saw Anna-Maria, safe and sound, come out to greet her on the porch.

"Trouble, sister!" she cried. "Last evening, that cursed old... Oh, oh, oh!" Anna-Maria clutched her cheek. "That same kind old man came to me and said that every time I start to scold, my teeth will ache. And how can I not scold, may the devils take him! Oh, oh, oh! May the Holy Madonna protect him!"

Then Anna-Maria's son ran into the yard with a stick in his hand. A dog was calmly sitting by the porch. The dear boy was about to swing the stick at the dog, but the stick twisted like a snake and struck him on the forehead.

"My golden peach," Anna-Maria began to lament, seeing this, "even you weren't spared by the old fool. Oh, oh, oh! Just think, sister, now the poor child can't even play! If you throw a stone, it'll hit you. I'm always applying compresses to his bruises and scratches."

Victoria laughed and turned home.

Here we could end the tale, but there's one more thing to say.

Nearly a hundred years have passed since this story happened. Soon the old magician will wake up in his hollow and wander the world again. Maybe you, children, will meet him. Don't be afraid of him. He's a good old man. Just remember, he pays everyone according to their deserts: whoever deserves what will get it.

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Stone Soup

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